Inconceivable
by theirhappystory
Summary: Felicity Smoak is haunted by the ghost of a man she was never able to call hers. Is it really a ghost haunting her... or a demon?


**Author's Note: **I wrote this almost 5 years ago and recently rediscovered it on my drive. I will NOT be continuing it, but figured I would put it out there as a one-shot to be read. This takes place in an alternate timeline about two years after Oliver leaves to fight Ra's al Ghul mid-S3.

**Inconceivable **

_Clack. Click click. Clack. Click click click._

The familiar and comforting sound of fingers racing over a keyboard fills the silence of her glass-encased office. She gets lost in the rhythm, letting her mind fall blank as the computer screen in front of her fills with ones and zeroes. It's just about the only thing she takes solace in anymore, now that _he_ is gone.

In truth he's been gone for over two years now. She has just finally given up hope after seven hundred and fifty-three days of foolishness, seven hundred and fifty-three days of pitying glances and sympathetic words that did nothing to ease the pain in her chest. A pain she thinks is cruel and unfair to feel for someone who was never hers and never would be.

A soft tapping on her office door draws Felicity out of her spiraling thoughts and she glances away from her computer screen to find Jerry, her always smiling and ever loyal assistant, waiting for her permission to enter.

"Come in, Jerry."

The man enters with a smile - he's always smiling, always happy - and quickly makes his way toward her desk.

"Ms. Smoak, I just wanted to let you know that it's six o'clock and to remind you of your dinner plans in an hour."

Felicity's eyes widen as she glances at the time in the corner of her computer screen, then outside to find that dusk has fallen upon the busy streets and towering office buildings of Starling City. When did it get so late? She could have sworn she _just_ had lunch with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises not too long ago.

"Wow. Time must have slipped away from me again. You didn't have to stay, Jerry. You should be home having dinner with your fiance."

"Tyler doesn't mind. Plus, then who would remind you to rejoin the land of the living, Ms. Smoak?"

The words are spoken with jest, but as Felicity glances up at her assistant she can see the concern in his eyes. She has come to know that look well, not just from him but from all of those closest to her. It's the look someone gives a widow. But she isn't married, has never been, so the fact that she is constantly on the receiving end of that look without having ever been allowed the premortem part both angers Felicity and leaves her feeling like a hole has been punched in her chest.

She doesn't let it show. Instead she turns to gather her things and shut down her computers, having learned long ago that preoccupation is key to faking a smile and getting through the day.

"How long have you worked here, Jerry? Two and a half years? You can call me Felicity."

"You know I won't, it wouldn't be professional. I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

Shrugging on her wool jacket, Felicity clicks her desk lamp off and slides her purse onto her arm to rest in the crook of her elbow. A few loose office supplies are scattered across her desk and she quickly reaches down to reorganize the area. A few folders here, a paperweight there, the picture of her and baby Sara at her first birthday party that she keeps next to her computer, _a pen_. She freezes the second her fingers brush the last object, eyes transfixed on the vibrant writing utensil.

_It was red._

Ten… nine… eight…

Breathe.

Seven… six… five… four...

Breathe and take a step back.

Three… two… one…

Breathe and smile.

"Let's get out of here. We both have dinner plans we can't be late for."

Jerry doesn't question her momentary stillness, only nods in agreement as he follows Felicity out of the glass office and toward the elevators to leave for the night.

….

"Hi! Sorry, I know I'm late. I was working on the coding for this new project Applied Sciences is taking on and you know how I get when I'm really into it."

It takes her a moment as she plops down in the booth, but her eyes widen when she realizes the way that sounds and quickly corrects herself.

"I did not mean for that to sound the way it did."

The man occupying the bench on the other side of the table chuckles good naturedly and smiles at her.

"It's okay, Felicity. I know how you throw yourself into your work."

There's an underlying tone of concern in his words that she has become all too familiar with. Glancing up from the wide variety of burgers and shakes on her menu, Felicity is met with that look again, the widow look. It still bothers her, but coming from him it doesn't feel as pitying. Because he lost someone that day, too.

Reaching across the table, Felicity slides her hand into his for a moment and offers a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

"Digg, I'm fine. Really. I'm just passionate about this new project with Wayne Enterprises. That's all."

She squeezes his hand briefly before moving to snatch up one of the fried pickles he has already ordered them, dipping the end in a generous amount of sauce before taking a bite.

"I just worry about you, Felicity. Lyla and I are always here if you need anything, you know that right?"

"I know and I love the both of you for it. How are she and Sara doing? You two need to go out some time so the little munchkin and I can have some quality girl time."

They slip into an easy, comforting back and forth after that. The conversation revolves around baby Sara's newest word, coded discussion about Lyla's work at ARGUS, and the success of Diggle's personal security start up. There's a very large market for that here in Starling and across the way in Coast City. Imagine that. What they never talk about is the third chair at the table, permanently empty. Misery loves company, but desolation is a solitary creature.

Felicity feels it after she orders herself a mint chip milkshake with extra cherries. (The cherries are for John. He never asks but that's why she does it.) The sensation of being watched hits her, hard. It's a feeling she's accustomed to, but hasn't felt this strongly in a little less than two years.

Ten… nine… eight…

_Breathe._

Seven… six…

_He's not here._

Four… three…

_He's_ _gone, Felicity._

Two… one.

_Oliver_.

Her eyes snap open and sweep around the innards of Big Belly Burger. There's a balding man at the counter lost in sports on the TV screen. A group of rowdy teenagers in the corner blowing spit balls at each other. A young couple with a curly haired toddler two tables behind Digg. The shadows in the room prove empty, devoid of life. If nothing else, at least her crippling sense of abandonment and anxiety have heightened her situational awareness. A sentiment her therapist does not think highly of.

"Felicity." A warm hand covers her balled up fist on the table, startling her. "He's not here."

Felicity snaps back to reality and smiles weakly at John across the table. Everything is fine, it says. The concerned twist of his mouth communicates he doesn't believe it. Neither does she.

"I know, I know. It's just… I got that feeling again." The last part is mumbled at best. Diggle frowns in response.

"I thought you said that stopped over a year ago."

"It did," she whispers back as her eyes scan the wall of windows to her right. The man across from her subtly shifts in his chair and does his own surveillance of their surroundings.

For the first six months after he left - _died, he died_. She has to stop thinking like he will come back. For the first six months after he _died_, Felicity began to sense eyes on her, following her. At first she brushed it off, a figment of her imagination and yearning for someone who didn't exist anymore. But then it became too much as it occupied her thoughts and made it impossible to move on with her life. So she told John about it. He gave her the name of a therapist he was seeing. It helped. A little.

"Have you been seeing Dr. Harris?" Her eyes snap at his question.

"Yes. I'm telling you this is the first time I've felt it since… " Since she was attacked in an alleyway a year and a half ago. Then she became fearful of the feeling, before that she had masochistically embraced it. "It's the first time I've felt it in awhile."

"Why don't you come back to our place tonight? Lyla and Sara would love to see you. We can make up the guest bed." Felicity smiles at his attempted nonchalance.

"I'll be okay. Probably just too many hours at the office. All I need is a glass of wine and a full eight to ten hours of sleep."

"At least let me walk you to your car," Diggle insists, and to that Felicity agrees.

They pay the bill and the pair easily falls into step next to each other. It's quiet in this part of the city, at least at this time of day. Felicity's heels _click clack_ against the cement while Digg's steps remain silent out of habit. The sun is nearly gone beneath the horizon, leaving the sky a shade of violet, then indigo, then navy, then black. Not quite day, but not quite night. An inbetween.

"Your chariot, my lady."

Diggle's voice startles Felicity out of her reverie. Sure enough they have arrived at her black Hyundai. It's less conspicuous than her bright red Prius was. Diggle waits for her to unlock the car, then holds the driver door open for her after he checks the back seat.

_I'm not gonna hurt you, Felicity._

No, no, no.

"Are you sure you'll be alright," questions Digg. "Offer still stands."

"Thank you, John." She smiles at him gently then pushes up on her toes to peck his cheek. "I'll be fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Felicity climbs into the car and shuts the door as Digg strides away. The key slides into the ignition and the engine comes to life, but she doesn't move. She won't.

The feeling of being watched is back and in the rear view mirror she sees the figure of a man, leaner and taller than Digg, shrouded completely in black.


End file.
